Suki ja nai
by Feral Phoenix
Summary: Attraction is what it is, plain and simple, though they may say that love has nothing to do with it. Ten short, separate moments that color the relationship between Roswell and Rosary. 10: I Love You. Challenge complete.
1. zetsubou: despair

Suki ja nai

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Yggdra Union. I own Yggdra Union fanfiction. And in working on said fanfiction, I think I addicted myself to this pairing. Hence the following oneshot/drabble collection. …I'm a moron, aren't I…?

01: zetsubou

As soon as Rosary got the news, she ran to the castle's infirmary wing, blinded by her terrible fear. The doctors and healers she passed were murmuring to each other with grim and saddened expressions, and when she got to the room she sought at long last, the looks on her friends' faces told her everything she needed to know.

She tried to hide her trembling lower lip behind her hand. "It's… that bad?"

Yggdra looked down at the ground and nodded. "Rosary, it's… so horrible. I never thought… he seemed to be doing so well lately. He'd been easing off that medication so slowly… all the doctors said he would be able to function normally… but…!" She buried her face in her hands.

Rosary forced herself to smile. "Oh, Yggdra, don't… Not here. Think about your condition. You shouldn't be stressing yourself out. Besides, just think of where you are. You know you'll lose face if your people see you weeping."

Yggdra wiped her eyes and tried a shaky, lopsided smile in return. It looked more like a grimace. "Okay… I know. I'm sorry."

"Listen, Rosary…" Gulcasa put his arm protectively around Yggdra's shoulders, giving her a concerned look before turning to regard the Lady of the White Rose. "Can you take care of him for now? Yggdra's been here for too long. She needs to sit down, get some rest. And neither of us'll be able to, so long as we know he's… alone in there." Absently, he reached up and rubbed one of the dark, jagged marks that traced along the side of his throat, frowning. Even after so many years, his scars had yet to fade even a little. "I know what that's like. I've been there. More than anything else, he needs somebody in there with him. Not because—he doesn't have that kind of strength. He just needs to know he isn't alone. There's nothing more painful than being alone when you're… like that."

"I'll do it," Rosary agreed with a sigh, although she was dreading the moment she'd have to open that door and walk inside. "Yggdra, just go lie down. Remember, you're not just thinking of yourself anymore, alright?"

As if taking Rosary's words as a cue, Yggdra suddenly winced and laid a hand to the ripe curve of her belly. Although both Gulcasa and Rosary started forward with concern, she shook her head at them with a weak smile. "Just fidgety," she said, although her voice wavered nervously. "We've still a few months yet."

"Come on, you need rest," Gulcasa cajoled softly, looking down at his wife with worry in his eyes. "You can't overexert yourself now."

_Not this time, _Rosary added mentally, making a face. She didn't have to say it. She knew that it loomed over them more than it did her, and God alone knew just how badly Rosary herself wanted things to work out for the two of them. Yggdra had been so heartbroken when she'd miscarried last year, and had blamed herself endlessly when she'd been told it was likely because she'd pushed herself too hard. Now that she and Gulcasa had decided to try again, they were both deathly afraid that something would go wrong, and Rosary and all the others knew they had to do their part to take care of the young couple.

And that meant picking up slack when Yggdra needed to rest when things like this happened. Besides, it was her responsibility as much as her friends'.

"He's right, you know," she said, attempting a light and easy tone. "I'll take care of Roswell. Don't you worry about a thing. I'll tell you everything that happens later, once I know I can leave him to his own devices."

Yggdra nodded, subdued. Gulcasa shot Rosary a look of pure gratitude, then gently shepherded her off down the hall.

Rosary sighed as she watched them go, then turned back towards the door and laid a hand on the brass knob. She hesitated for a moment, then slowly turned it and let herself in.

Slowly, weakly, Roswell turned towards her from his bed, his brow furrowing for a moment before he recognized her and tried to smile. "…Hello…"

"Shhh. Don't talk." Rosary looked around, grabbed the nearest chair, and pulled it up to his bedside, sitting on the edge and leaning forward to stroke his hair back from his forehead. "Don't try to move. Just be still, okay? You'll just make it worse."

"…I…" Roswell began, but had to pause for air, his breath rasping and erratic. "I… Rosary… I…"

"I said _hush," _Rosary ordered. God, he was so pale. His skin was as bloodlessly white and delicate as paper, his lips more gray than pink. How long had it taken for someone to realize? How long had he been left wherever he'd been, that he was so close to having been bled dry? There was a needle in his upper left arm hooked to a half-filled IV of fresh blood, but… Rosary doubted that could make up for it. His forehead had felt clammy when her fingertips had brushed it; his eyes were half-closed and bleary, and he seemed to be having trouble focusing on her. Even through all the time she'd known Roswell, Rosary had never seen him this out of it before. It was like he was still hovering in the foggy area between life and death.

This was even worse than the way it'd been at Heaven's Gate, with his life swiftly eroding as she and Yggdra had held him. At least then he'd been—mostly unconscious, and still struggling. Not like this.

Rosary bit her lip and made herself look. White bandages were wrapped all up and down Roswell's forearms, tied over his palms—he'd gotten the wrists too this time. He'd been serious, then. Blood soaked them in a bright scarlet line from wrist to elbow, leaving wet blotches on the comforter. Oh, God. He was still losing blood.

Her first instinct was to demand why the hell he'd done it. Rosary mentally sat on that urge, refusing to let herself give voice to it. Yelling wouldn't help at all; it would only make things worse. This was not Roswell's fault. The healers who knew best about such things said that the flow of life in some people was more delicate than in others, that the signals that dictated mood and physical responses were more easily confused and misdirected. Consequently, when those people found themselves in emotional distress, the internal imbalance they had sent them spiraling out of control.

Roswell was one of those people. And this was not something he could help.

Besides—the only _real_ surprisehere was the magnitude. Roswell had tried to hurt himself several times before, just… never this badly. Had he truly meant to die this time?

"…I…" Roswell tried again.

"No," Rosary told him, trying to bite back tears. She would not cry, damn it. "Just hush. Just stay quiet for now. It's fine. I know you're hurting, and I'm not going anywhere."

Laboriously, Roswell slid his maimed right arm across the bed to where Rosary's hands clutched the sheets, leaving a faint red smear behind it. He laid pale fingers over hers, meeting her gaze wordlessly.

Rosary clutched his hand and squeezed it. He tried to squeeze back, as if to reassure her, but he didn't have the strength.

_He's cold, _Rosary realized suddenly. _After losing that much blood… if he can't stay warm…_

The witch made a face, then peeled back the sheets and kicked off her high-heeled boots, setting her hat on the bedpost. "Here. Get close. You need to warm up for now."

"…………"

"And don't get the wrong idea," Rosary said a little sharply, with an attempt at a wry smile that went lopsided. All the same, Roswell gave a soft laugh at her effort at humor as she eased him into her arms.

"Sleep now," she crooned as he lay listlessly against her side, running her fingers through his hair. "Everything else can wait. Just sleep now. Get your rest. Get better."

Either Roswell was too weak and too tired to argue, or he knew better. He simply closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her shoulder; almost instantly, his breathing evened out until it was almost normal. He was asleep.

"…Idiot," Rosary murmured as she looked down at him worriedly. She might never be able to ask him directly why he'd tried to kill himself, might never be able to do much more than hold him while he wavered between life and death, but—what little she could do to ease his despair, she would.

As his friend—as someone who cared for his sake—Rosary could do nothing else.

**Owari.**


	2. ren'ai: affair

Suki ja nai

See disclaimer in 01

02: ren'ai

Even after all this time, Rosary thought absently as her body echoed with that soft, self-satisfied hum, Roswell still slept on black silk sheets.

Sleeping on silk always made her feel as sultry and playful as a love goddess. Her predatory edge had been quelled for the moment, though, and she was free to enjoy the sensuous sweep of the soft fabric along her bare skin.

The heavy draperies tossed in the breeze that drifted through the slightly opened window. Rosary closed her eyes as the gentle chill kissed her face and sighed happily.

Beside her, Roswell made a muted sound of protest and shifted, the skin on the underside of his arm reluctantly pulling away from Rosary's belly where slowly cooling sweat had adhered them together. She turned to him briefly, but he didn't stir any further after resettling his loose grip on her. He was still asleep.

It had been a while since she'd let him sleep this close—Rosary was way too lazy to move, and she felt good where she was. It wasn't so bad. Usually his warmth so near her would've been bothersome, but—Rosary felt like she could live with it for one night. His breath was a cool tickle at the side of her throat, and he'd shifted his arm up so that his fingertips lightly grazed the side of her breast. She didn't mind. She felt indulgent towards him for some reason—better to keep letting him sleep than raise a fuss and hurt him, especially when it wasn't such a big deal anyway. He deserved his rest.

As usual, the sex had been astronomical. That was the one thing that could always be said about Roswell—he made it a point to always know what he was doing. He'd been so tender with her—only just forceful enough not to seem hesitant—and so skillful that just the slightest whisper of lips or fingers across her skin had made her vibrate with pure, animalistic need. And the last few moments of climax had been wonderfully brutal. Rosary felt well and fully used even now, and was quite sure that Roswell would display a number of bruises in the morning.

The few other lovers she'd taken over the years had all eventually been banished from her bed out of their insufficiency, their inability to keep up with her. Roswell was different. His sensitivity gave him the ability to perfectly match her needs, and satiate her every time they did this. No one else could possibly compare.

She wasn't entirely sure how she'd wandered back into his bed now, three years after their mutual loss of virginity right here. It had just happened, and because it seemed to please them both, it kept happening. And why not? There was little harm that could come from a simple fling between friends.

Only one element of the affair ever bothered Rosary.

Always after the second or third time—whenever Roswell had so exhausted himself that he couldn't continue—once the two of them had settled into the soft, silent post-coital haze of kisses and easy closeness before he fell asleep, Rosary would always, always find fresh tears on his face.

She didn't ask, but she wondered. Obviously since he wasn't telling her what was wrong, it was something too private or too painful for him to confess. She wished he'd say. He tended to get a little too depressed about things, and she didn't want him to get hurt. Their sex was… well, all about the sex. If Rosary didn't know what kinds of sticky feelings and baggage Roswell was bringing to bed, she wanted to find out sooner rather than later, before it turned into an issue.

"After all, it's just a fling," she murmured aloud, toying with a few silken strands of Roswell's hair. "Just a harmless little fling between friends."

Somehow that felt like a lie to Rosary, but she refused to pursue the thought any further, closing her eyes on it instead and resolving herself to sleep.

Owari.


	3. mahou: magic

Suki ja nai

See disclaimer in 01

03: mahou

"If you'll excuse me, my lady of Esmeralda?"

Rosary looked up from her book and scowled at Nessiah, who stood with one hand on the doorframe and that I-am-_so_-up-to-something little smile on his face as he "considered" her, the nape of her neck prickling with dislike. "Is there something you need?" she asked icily, raising one eyebrow at him. "If not, you can shove off. I'm _trying _to enjoy a book here."

"Now, now, is that any way to treat a guest?" he asked in an amused tone, folding his arms at his chest. "If you'll forgive my intrusion and my audacity, I'd like your help with something."

"Like what?" Rosary asked suspiciously, intrigued despite herself.

"Earlier this morning, I happened upon a rather interesting spell recorded in the castle library and decided to try it out. I've discovered, however, that it's a circle spell written specifically for a trinity of casters." That made sense to Rosary; three, five, seven, and thirteen were the most magically powerful numbers and most circle, or group, spells were written for that number of participants. "My lord of Branthese has agreed to join us already, and you're the only other magician here equal to our power. Besides, I think you'll find this spell to be worth your time."

"Oh, really?" Rosary looked him up and down. "What if I say no?"

"I don't think you will. The spell itself is quite harmless, believe me," Nessiah assured her earnestly. "It's a blessing in love and joy, and I think it may do some good for Gulcasa and Yggdra's nerves, now that the date's closing in on them."

Rosary sighed. _Trapped. Trapped like a rat. Damn it, he's good. He knows I can't refuse when it's about Yggdra—all of us would do anything for her. _"Okay, okay. I'll at least give it a look. Where are we doing this?"

"Out in the courtyard. Roswell and I will be waiting. And thank you," Nessiah told her, and left, dipping her a slight bow as he did.

_Damn that manipulative little… _Shaking her head at herself, Rosary dog-eared her page and grabbed her lucky casting broom, reluctantly leaving her tower and walking down the long spiral staircase to the outdoors.

The soft, bright spring breeze greeted her as she walked to the center of the courtyard, a wide cobbled circle ringed by flowers, shrubs, and the occasional tree. As Nessiah had said, he and Roswell were standing there waiting, both poring over an opened page in Nessiah's spellbook and deep in discussion of its contents.

"Alright, so what are we doing here?" Rosary asked, curious and disgruntled that she even was curious.

"It looks like a straightforward enough charm, but the execution is _very _complex," Roswell said, pointing. "I don't think anyone even a little below our skill level stands a chance at pulling this off. Also, the method of binding the framework is a bit—antiquated."

"What's that mean?" Rosary wondered, getting closer so that she could see and giving Roswell a surreptitious glance as she did. It was good to see him up and interested in something again, though he still looked a bit peaky. Well, at least Rosary knew he wasn't going to have another episode anytime soon. He was firmly back on the anti-depressant medicine he'd been prescribed, and she personally made a point to nag him about it every few days just in case.

"Is it really?" Nessiah asked, all innocence. "Back home, this is—or used to be, as I can't say I'm up to date with the current modes there—a very popular form of spellcasting. Especially for something like this."

Rosary peered at the glyph Nessiah had copied into his spellbook and scowled. "Is this what I think it is? You've got to be joking."

"No, Rosary, I believe I can say that this is the first authentic sung spell we've come across since our studies as children," Roswell said, his eyebrows arched in interest.

"This is _nuts," _Rosary replied, shaking her head in amazement. "Spells like this one are _insanely _difficult. You have to tie power and intent into each individual note you sing, and be able to concentrate completely on all of that and your target too. Besides, who knows if any of us have the voice for something this complicated?"

"Really, Rosary," Roswell said with a smile. "It's certainly been a while since you've given a public performance, but it's hard to forget that you've always tuned your violin to the notes that you yourself sing. As for me—I think I'll manage."

"What about _him?" _Rosary asked, indicating Nessiah with a shrug.

"Pitch-perfect. I have to be, in order to propose something of this nature when I intend to take forward. But in all honesty… I doubt it matters. We have to try, not just because it's a challenge, but because of the circumstances around us." Nessiah turned from Roswell to Rosary and back. "You know that Yggdra is due to go into labor any day now. She's well aware that even with the best medical care, there's always the chance that childbirth could kill her, and Gulcasa… aside from his worries for her health, he's terrified that their child might inherit his dragon's blood—he doesn't want it to suffer the way he has—but also afraid that it won't, because then he'll have no heir. If there's anything we can do to help them, we _must. _There's simply no other way around it.

"Furthermore, this spell will likely have a lesser effect on us, as well. Roswell, you may be out of direct danger for the time being, but on the inside your body's a mess, and your emotional state has never been more fragile. Rosary, you've been putting yourself through far too much stress worrying about him. The two of you need this as much as Yggdra and Gulcasa do."

Roswell and Rosary exchanged embarrassed glances, then looked away.

"And besides…" Nessiah gave them that impish smile again. "We're mages of the highest caliber, and for people like us, this spell is an adventure in and of itself. It's going to be _fun. _That should be reason enough to try it."

"…Ha… all right," Roswell agreed with a smile of his own. "What about you, Rosary?"

"I guess you can count me in," she said with a nod. Nessiah knew exactly which buttons to push to hook her. She couldn't back down from his challenge, and most definitely couldn't refuse if she knew this spell might help to cheer Roswell up.

"Thank you," Nessiah told them both, and laid his hand over the page he'd drawn the glyph on. The air rippled, and the soft down on the backs of Rosary's arms stood up as power flowed from the book to the ground, casting the complicated circle perfectly beneath their feet in shimmering gold that glowed like ley lines.

"Show-off," Rosary grumbled, impressed against her will.

Nessiah ignored her and held out his hands to each of them. The Revelation of the Gods hung suspended in midair obediently. Rosary wondered enviously how he managed to do that; it would be a blessing to just hover her reference in front of her and have both hands free when she did a working. "Aside from the forward, there's a male and female part described here," he said. "Concentrate on your line to begin with; we'll join hands for the round, but once the casting starts, we'll break to weave the individual components. Is that alright?"

"Fine by me," Rosary said, taking his outstretched right hand and grabbing hold of Roswell's left. Roswell wound his fingers through hers with a slight but warm smile and took Nessiah's other hand. "Let's get this show on the road."

Nessiah looked at the intricate designs of the glyph on the page before them for a moment, then began a slow slide into the wickedly complex framework of the spell, each note pure and strong, exactly on pitch.

_What a pretty voice, _Rosary thought, mesmerized despite herself. Nessiah's speaking voice was deep for his short stature—his singing voice was not. He had range, could climb into mid-soprano tones without switching to falsetto, and was obviously skilled, whether through natural talent or strict practice.

It was so easy to forget sometimes that Nessiah was actually an angel. Then he did something like _this, _and that reality smacked you in the face.

Roswell squeezed her hand to get her attention and nodded to the page before them. Rosary looked, and realized that the two of them were due to come in soon.

_Oh. Oops. _Embarrassed, she took a quick breath, then began to weave her harmony in unison with Roswell, setting a sweet counterpoint to Nessiah's compelling song. Almost instantly, Rosary felt a cord of power run through their joined hands, connecting them magically. As sensitive to the boys' preparations as she was to her own, Rosary readied herself.

A few more measures of bolstering passed by.

As one, the three mages dropped each other's hands and took one step backwards.

Almost instantaneously, joy bubbled up in Rosary's chest as the vocally woven spell began to take shape between their trinity. Nessiah was clearly in his element, adding embellishments to his part of the working that Rosary would've thought were impossible. Roswell stuck to his part as it was written, his eyes closed as he held out his staff, a look of bliss on his face as he immersed himself in what he so loved to do. As for Rosary, she shifted her hands along her broom and threw herself into the music.

As her spirit soared, Rosary focused inward on the instinctive need to share this wild joy, and pictured Yggdra, confined to her chambers, with her weary smile and burgeoning belly: Pregnant, and scared, and deserving more than anyone of a little inner peace and comfort. She pictured Gulcasa, most likely pacing outside his beloved's rooms, tangled up as ever in his own private torments, wishing him a little relief for Yggdra's sake.

She pictured Roswell, remembered the way he'd been not long before, in those frightening few weeks where his survival hadn't quite been certain, then looked over at him and the sweet confident smile he was wearing now. There'd been a time in her youth when she'd hated when Roswell had that look; now she missed the light assertive air that had come so easily to him then. The joy that she felt, that she knew he was feeling as well—it was something she wanted to envelop him in, something she wanted him to carry away from this experience.

Nessiah's voice rose and fell, pulling the tempo of their wordless refrain back, slowing them down and fading out. When at last he dropped his hands, cutting all of them off, that sweet elation still hung bright and effervescent throughout the area. Rosary just couldn't stop smiling.

"Thank you," Nessiah told them, placing a hand to his heart as he collected the Revelation of the Gods and tucked it under his arm. "I appreciate your help with that."

"No—thank _you," _Roswell said. "It was very thoughtful of you to include us in this."

Nessiah shook his head. "No… I just needed competent help, that's all. And you two needed a little relief. Anyone else would've done the same."

"Go ahead and make excuses if you want," Rosary told him, rolling her eyes. "We know better. Thanks."

Nessiah waved a hand at them, looking embarrassed, and walked off. Roswell stepped a little closer to Rosary and took her hand again.

"I'm starting to think he's nicer than he likes to act," Rosary admitted. "Even if he is a manipulative little bastard, he does have that much going for him."

"Hm… in that way, he's like someone else I know," Roswell said with a smile.

"…And what is that supposed to mean?" she demanded with a frown.

"Nothing," Roswell told her. "…We should do this again sometime."

"Yeah…"

The two of them headed back towards the castle walls, still linked for the time being by the magic they had shared.

**Owari.**


	4. namida: tears

Suki ja nai

See disclaimer in 01

04: namida

Roswell was usually the kind of person to wake abruptly, usually with a pause of disorientation or not knowing precisely where he was or what had happened right before he'd fallen asleep. That type of almost guilty awakening tended to become ingrained in anyone with the rather unfortunate habit of staying up doing research at odd hours, and dozing off at his desk, and then waking up stiff and ashamed at some obscene time of morning by the bustle of his attendants. He was unfamiliar with the kind of slow, lazy awakening that others could enjoy.

Perhaps that was why it seemed so strange, so like struggling through a waist-deep pit of molasses while wearing heavy robes to get to the surface, where the waking world awaited. It made Roswell tired, and he half-wanted to just surrender and go right back to sleep, but something deep within him was telling him he _had _to open his eyes now. Something important was waiting for him in the waking world.

And through all his experiences both as a scholar and as a soldier, Roswell's intuition had rarely steered him wrong, so he wasn't about to disregard what it was telling him now.

So he struggled for the surface of consciousness. Besides, even if he wanted to go back to sleep, something wet was dripping against his face like warm rain, and that was rather too distracting.

"…Unnh…"

Slowly, Roswell opened his eyes.

The world was out of focus for a moment, which gave him the time to realize that even though he was wrapped in soft sheets, his entire body was saturated in a bone-deep ache. He felt vaguely as though he'd let someone pound every inch of him viciously from the inside out. Everything hurt.

If Roswell had been just a little sleepier, he probably would have termed the pain with one of the many colorful, inventive phrases he'd heard his uncultured comrade Milanor utter over the course of the war. As it was, he kept his mouth shut. If anyone was around, it wouldn't do to break his composure so badly, not in this already compromising position.

He blinked, and the images around him cleared somewhat.

Someone was sitting next to him. And by the quiet but harsh edge to their breathing, Roswell guessed that they were the source of the little wet droplets that still beaded against his cheek.

He blinked again, and frowned a little.

"…Rosary…?"

She jerked, looking startled. "Roswell?! You're awake!"

"What…" She looked awful. Her face was all red and covered in tearstains, and her eyes looked as puffy as if she'd been sitting up for a week or more without rest. Her meticulously tailored silk regalia was askew, her hat looked as though she'd been twisting it as she did when she was fretting about something, and strands of her hair flew in wild directions as though she hadn't been washing it lately. That was… strange, to say the least. Rosary was very self-conscious of her appearance and always strove to look her best, no matter what.

To Roswell's surprise, Rosary started laughing, painful relief crossing her face as she reached out and seized his shoulders, shaking him gently. "Thank God! We all thought—why'd you do it, huh?! Why'd you risk yourself like that? You're so _stupid! _You could've died!"

"…………" Roswell looked up at her for a moment, confused, until the memories started to filter back in—the battle for Heaven's Gate, when the angel on guard there had seen Yggdra's sword, declared them a danger to the sacred realm of the gods, and attacked them viciously. He'd tried to diffuse the power of some of the spells she'd thrown their way. She'd broken straight through his guard and hit him with a judgment bolt.

He'd—he'd actually _felt _something deep within his body shatter, and then he hadn't been able to stand, collapsing to the ground in worlds of agony. He wasn't sure whether or not he'd screamed aloud. Most of the battle from then on was nothing but an awful tangle of blurred memories. He'd heard familiar voices calling his name, and sensed Yggdra and Rosary near him. One thing he _did _remember with stark, terrible clarity was that he'd been absolutely certain he was dying.

Somehow or other, the clamor of battle had ended—an interruption by someone? Roswell wasn't sure; he'd have to sort it out to himself later, and ask the others what had happened. He'd heard Yggdra and Gulcasa talking to someone whose voice he didn't know, and the only thing he remembered clearly after that was the mint-saturated taste of cold made liquid. After that, the terrible agony that wracked his body and soul had been replaced by painless, healing oblivion. He hadn't known whether it was death or salvation, but he'd decided he didn't give a damn and embraced it.

"You've been unconscious for a whole week," Rosary half-sobbed, still giving him that watery, relieved smile. "Even with that angel's potion, I was sure you weren't going to make it."

"…………" So that was it… Roswell had been subjected to a sleep of healing so intense that he must have been next to comatose. Now that it had worn off, he could wake up and appreciate the relief from most of his pain even though the remnants still drove him crazy.

Still, there was one thing that didn't quite make sense, something that bothered him badly, something that made him want to hope even though there _was _no hope for him there.

_Knowing _that he was doing something incredibly stupid and that he would regret it later, Roswell steeled himself, then slowly raised his leaden right arm with an effort, resting his bare palm on Rosary's cheek and softly stroking his curled fingers beneath her eye, wiping fresh tears away.

"…Why… are you crying…?" he asked with an effort.

Instantly, Rosary jerked where she sat, her shoulders coming up defensively and blood rushing into her cheeks. "Wh… wha… I… I am not crying! I…! I was out in the rain a while ago and I didn't dry off all the way!"

It was an obvious lie. Roswell couldn't help himself, and smiled, giving a weak laugh.

Rosary puffed her cheek out sulkily, glowering at him. "You—ggh, stupid Roswell!"

"…I'm sorry," he said softly, feeling too insubstantial—too vulnerable—to pursue the matter and start an argument. They both knew, no matter how much she tried to deny it: Those were genuine tears, and they had been shed for him.

Rosary smiled regretfully and covered his hand with her own, curling her fingers around his palm, her flushed skin a sharp contrast to his paleness. "…You really are such an idiot…" she said, squeezing out another tear as she looked down at him.

His energy spent, Roswell closed his eyes and let the soothing stroke of Rosary's fingers against his skin lull him back to sleep.

**Owari.**


	5. kaiwa: conversation

Suki ja nai

See disclaimer in 01

05: kaiwa

"…So."

"…So…"

A scowl. "So, what do you think?"

"…Mmm…"

"And don't you just 'mm' me and avoid looking at me like you're trying to run away. Damn it. I want an _opinion. _Is that so much to ask?"

"…You… want praise, but… this isn't… isn't really my style." The voice was steeped in embarrassment.

"So, what if it _was? _Come on, I am _dying _for a little feedback. Show a little _backbone _for once, Roswell."

Sigh. "Rosary, please… I'm in the middle of something right now, and I…"

"Is it _sooooo _hard to just say if it's good or bad and why?"

"Well…"

"Oh, for the love of… just _tell _me!"

"…………"

_"Roswell!!"_

"…alright…"

"Well, finally. _So?"_

"…the execution's a bit flashy."

"And what is _that _supposed to mean?! Is it _bad _to want to attract attention? Is it such a _sin _to—"

"Rosary…"

_"What?!"_

"…may I continue…?"

"Oh, go on already."

"…the result seems a bit rushed…"

"What do you mean, _RUSHED? _I spent thirty minutes on this!"

"…………"

"What's _that _look for?! You think I should have taken _longer? _Or do you just think I shouldn't have bothered because _obviously _your results would have been superior to mine?! Damnit Roswell, you're so stuck-up!"

"…Rosary."

"I don't know why I even came to you with this! I knew you were going to—"

_"Rosary."_

"—start acting all high-and-mighty like you usually do and—"

"ROSARY."

_"What?!"_

"Do you want my opinion or not?"

"Hmph." A huff of offended pride. "Well, go on, then."

"…As I was saying… it's a bit rough around the edges, but as far as I understand… you don't often try things like this, do you? With that in mind, I'd say it's an admirable effort."

"A-admirable… _effort?"_

"In the view of another magician. We expect absolute perfection of ourselves and others. As a working, it has its shortcomings. Those not experienced in our field, however, wouldn't look for that. I'm sure Flone will think it's quite charming."

"…Huh? Y-you… think she'll _like _it?"

"Heh…" A smile. "…Honestly? Looking at it by itself, as something I might purchase for a friend in a store… it's clever. And it's cute. That you made it is an expression of your caring. I'm certain she'll like it, Rosary."

"…oh…"

"…is there anything else?"

"Uh… n-no."

"Well, then… if I may get back to my studies?"

"S-sure…"

"…………"

"Uh…"

"…yes?"

"…Thanks, Roswell."

Another smile, a warmer one this time. "There's no need to thank me, Rosary."

**Owari.**


	6. odoru: dance

Suki ja nai

See disclaimer in 01

06: odoru

This was the kind of night, Rosary thought to herself as she crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair luxuriously, when dreams were made.

All you had to do to confirm that was look out on the dance floor, over that wide expanse of black and white marble tiles, lit by the gorgeous million-crystalled chandelier, surrounded by big splashy stands of flowers.

All you had to do was look out at Russell and Flone, at the way they glowed: the groom with his bride in his arms, the way they stared at each other as if nothing else existed in the entire world. Russell was gorgeous as ever in black, and Flone was just beyond lovely in her pearl-studded gown and gauzy veil. This was their night, and to them it was surely perfect in every way.

Or you could look to any of the other couples with whom they shared the dance floor—Milanor and Kylier for instance, he looking extremely uncomfortable in the tuxedo his friends had forced him to don, she with a constant blush in a blue-and-white dress she'd borrowed from Yggdra. Rosary expected they were dancing—or _trying _to; it looked more to her as though they were more attempting not to step on each other's feet and failing miserably. But both of them were laughing at themselves about it, and all said, it looked as though they were actually enjoying themselves thoroughly.

Or over there, by the table of refreshments—Zilva and Elena in mirrored dresses, black and white, taking a break from the festivities. People passing by them kept staring. Rosary couldn't blame them—who knew, considering the sexless way she usually dressed, that Zilva would _ever _voluntarily squeeze into that tiny cocktail slip, corsage, opera gloves, and all? From her smirk as she sipped from her wineglass, Rosary got the feeling that Zilva was enjoying knocking the throngs of guests on their collective asses, especially because Elena was among the number of those goggling.

Then, of course, came the best man and maid of honor. Rosary stared at them with upraised eyebrows over the rim of her goblet. In day-to-day life, Gulcasa preferred to dress in some form of armor or in plain work clothes, so seeing him like this got to be _quite _a shock. Just what _did _one call that outfit his attendants had bullied him into? Whatever it was, there was no denying the fact that he was an even prettier piece of eye candy in it than usual. The Imperial black and scarlet flattered him, she supposed, and his gold-trimmed cloak made even the slightest movement dramatic. And with Yggdra on his arm, looking purer and more innocent than ever in that floaty blue pastel dress, draped in green gauze, they looked as if _they _could almost be the happily wedded couple instead of Russell and Flone.

Except for the blushing. Newlyweds beamed. They didn't get embarrassed in the middle of discussions and break off with a squeak. Ah, well.

Rosary fancied she'd seen Cruz and Mizer around somewhere, too, but they seemed to have slipped off at the moment. Durant was out on the floor somewhere, politely socializing with the daughters of representatives and likely only getting away with it because everyone _knew _just how chivalrous he was. Everyone else was seated somewhere along the tables littering roughly a third of the ballroom, enjoying the talk and the food and the happiness.

Russell and Flone hadn't originally planned for a wedding this splashy. But the people had needed something to celebrate after all this debate about how things were to be settled to prevent another big war, and Russell and Flone's mothers had gotten involved with the planning—as mothers were wont to do, Rosary supposed. She wouldn't know. But the celebrations were in full swing now, and no one could say that the pair wasn't enjoying what they'd gotten.

The problem? Everything was just so _couple-oriented_ that Rosary was bored out of her skull.

"Now, what in the world is a lovely young specimen such as yourself doing sitting and watching the dance floor with the solitude blues?" came a lightly amused voice from over her shoulder.

Rosary felt her stomach twist into a knot, souring her insides, as she turned in her chair to give Nessiah a resentful glare. He was leaning elegantly against the table with a tall glass of champagne in his hand, his lips quirked in a little smile that was halfway sardonic and a _lot _lofty. Instead of going with tradition and dressing in black or at _least _dark colors, he was wearing something that was presumably a robe but looked more like an off-the-shoulder dress, which fell in pure white folds to his ankles, its gold trim glittering in the low light. Going over him with a critical eye, Rosary decided that this type of lighting was not at all flattering on him. Where it warmed most people's color, it cast an ethereal glow over Nessiah's deathly pale complexion, making his skin seem as cold and white as marble. Combined with his choice of formal wear, it made him look ghostly, insubstantial. Not the best look for a wedding.

Well, then again, Nessiah was a man, therefore consigning him to fashion stupidity. Rosary supposed he couldn't be blamed.

"For Russell and Flone's sakes, that had _better _not be your roundabout way of asking me out there," Rosary retorted, glowering. "I would hate to have to cause a scene in turning you down."

"You, dance with _me?" _Nessiah laughed self-mockingly and raised his free arm, causing his heavy chains to jangle. "With these? You _must _be joking. They're far too awkward for that, which would be why I have not danced since… for the last several hundred years." Rosary wondered a little at that change of phrase, knowing very well that he meant since he'd been exiled from Asgard. "No. Most certainly not. I was merely wondering why you're acting the wallflower, when there are many more productive things you could be doing."

"Such as?" Rosary asked, drawing the words out as she artfully arched one eyebrow at him.

Nessiah pointed across the room. "Over there. Do you see him? He doesn't look altogether well. In my professional opinion…"

"Of which you have come by through your vast experience with manipulating every person you've come across since you joined the mortal world or before…" Rosary drawled.

"If I may finish?" Nessiah asked, cocking his head at her with an exasperated tone of voice. The blind man's equivalent, Rosary supposed, of giving her a _look. _"In my professional opinion, he needs a little company. And you're the only one around who isn't doing anything, so that falls to you."

"What about your own worthy self?"

"I have things to do," Nessiah said pointedly. "Now, go. You know that Roswell won't bite. He's moping, and that requires your immediate attention." Taking a long drink of his champagne, the fallen angel topped himself off, then waved his free hand at her. "Go on, now."

Rosary glared after him as he retreated, then stood up, annoyed with him and with herself.

She couldn't believe she was actually going to _listen _to that piece of slime, but… it was something to do, and she was _bored._

And so, she made her way over to the neglected table where Roswell was sitting, staring out onto the dance floor with melancholy eyes. He was wearing a silky-looking black robe with a slit up the side over bottle-green pants and what she recognized as his best black leather boots, with the treasured Branthese black rose brooch pinned over his heart and his long ash-brown hair pulled back into a horsetail.

Okay. Damn it. Nessiah had been right; Roswell needed attention.

"Hey there, wallflower," she said as she approached, putting mischief in her voice and a smile on her face. "What are you brooding about?"

"What?" He looked up at her blankly. "Oh—Rosary. It's nothing much."

She sat down next to him, leaning back on the table. "Come on, Roswell, I know you better than that. It's never 'nothing much' with you. So why don't you stop being Mr. I'm-just-fine-don't-worry-about-me, I-just-had-something-in-my-eye and spill?"

Roswell shook his head at her, then looked back out over the dance floor, giving the enraptured couples a sad smile. "…It's not that. I'm happy for them. It just seems… like this is the end of something too, like they're leaving us by taking the next step in their lives together. All of them. …I don't know. I suppose it's just nostalgia… just feeling a little bit lonely."

Rosary stared at him for a moment, then stood up. "Alright. You, up, now."

"What?"

"Stand up. This isn't the sort of thing you do sitting down."

Roswell stood up.

"Now. I want to make one thing perfectly clear to you right now, and that's the fact that this is a party. And at parties, people have fun. I think that almost everyone will agree to the fact that you sitting in a corner looking tortured is not fun. So." She held out one hand, draping it at an elegant angle in front of him.

"…?" Roswell just looked at her, puzzled.

"There's a whole dance floor out there waiting," Rosary prompted him impatiently, fluttering her hand insistently as the orchestra slid their constant music into a lively waltz. "Are we going to use it or not?"

Slowly, Roswell began to smile. Only hesitating one more beat, he accepted her hand and brought it up to his lips, giving her fingers a light kiss.

"…Then, may I have this dance?"

Something about the way he was looking at her made her chest feel strange. Still, Rosary told herself to ignore it and grinned back at him. _"Dear_ Roswell, I thought you'd _never _ask."

They headed out onto the dance floor together, drifted to a spot that none of the other couples would hit for a while, and turned to face each other. It was an old rhythm, one that had remained unpracticed for a long time, granted, but one which they fell into with relative ease despite that fact. His black-gloved hand on her shoulder, hers on his arm. Her other hand in his. From there, it was a step back into memory.

The orchestra set a quick pace, but Roswell was a confident dancer, and Rosary wasn't so bad at it herself. For the first few moments, she concentrated mostly on keeping her steps in time with the beat—and by the soft running dialogue of count Roswell kept under his breath, she knew he was doing the same—but before long they'd fallen into the old familiar rhythm and didn't have to think about it at all.

Roswell was smiling at her. That wasn't fair. Here she was only dancing with him to keep him from being all gloomy and depressed, and he had to go turn on the charm and smile at her like he was enjoying himself. Like he was grateful.

It put the funny feeling back in Rosary's chest, when she did not want it there. Damn it, didn't Roswell know she was just doing this to be sociable and relieve her own boredom?

And to get that creepy Nessiah to keep his distance. The manipulative little bastard. He'd probably planned all this from the start.

Damn him.

Still, Rosary couldn't help but smile back at Roswell. This was… okay, a lot more fun than sitting around waiting for the end of the party because it would be rude to leave early. At the very least, she was kind of enjoying herself. Just a little.

She'd just never admit that little fact _out loud._

Right after she got her whirling thoughts under control, it seemed, the song drew to a close, the orchestra setting their instruments aside for a brief break. They had to be tired by now, as they'd been playing for a few hours straight.

Roswell gave her hand a squeeze, smiling at her again. He had that old sparkle back in his eyes, the sparkle that told her he really _was _in high spirits now. She'd missed that sparkle. She hadn't seen it in… oh, it had to've been years. Not since… that unfortunate incident three years ago, in fact.

Guilt, and something else, something she couldn't quite name and didn't quite want to, clutched Rosary's throat, and she couldn't speak as Roswell leaned in to give her a light kiss on the cheek.

_Do not blush, do NOT get started! _Rosary berated herself as she felt her face start to heat. _He's just being a gentleman, damn it! Don't get so worked up over nothing!_

Still, there was a corner—a teeny-tiny, highly repressed corner—of Rosary's heart that was longing for her to lean over and kiss him right back.

She hadn't been intimate with anyone for a while. That was probably it.

"Thank you, Rosary," he said softly, sliding her arm from her shoulders to her waist, resting his hand on her hip and keeping them at arm's length. Though she began to speak, he shook his head, cutting her off. "No, really… thank you."

And he let go of her hand, heading back through the crowds of happy people towards the drinks.

Rosary stood there for a moment and watched him go, flustered and feeling strange and out of sorts and not quite knowing what to do.

Well, damn it.

Maybe it had been good for Roswell, but this had definitely been a bad idea.

She had to go find Nessiah. Wherever he'd gotten to, she owed the bastard a well-placed smack or two.

After, _after, _she regained her composure. And managed to convince herself that what had just happened on this dance floor really was no big deal at all.

**Owari.**


	7. daikirai: i hate you

Suki ja nai

See disclaimer in 01

07: daikirai

The heady buzz of victory was still humming through Roswell's veins hours later as he wove his way through the gardens of the Esmeralda manor in the haze of twilight.

All the pressure, all this time—it had finally proven to be too much, and for the first time in so long he almost couldn't remember, Roswell had lost his temper. Not just lost it, but lost it spectacularly. He'd had not so much as a few choice words but an entire _sermon _for his parents and the way they'd raised him, the way they'd treated poor Rosary. The sheer _shock _on their faces had been a thing of beauty.

Their apology, surprised and sincere, had been a thing of wonder.

Who knew that flying off the handle could be so _productive?_

With their free blessing, here he was. And nothing would ever get between him and his best… his more-than-a-best-friend again.

"Rosary?"

No answer. Roswell shrugged to himself, unfazed.

"Rosary, I'm coming up."

Hooking his fingers into the thick ivy growing all over the uneven wall, Roswell slowly made his way up towards her window. He took his time—he always did. It was necessary to visit her like this—her uptight parents would wax apoplectic if they ever knew that a Branthese was sneaking into their treasured manor—but just because he didn't have any other choice didn't mean he was going to rush, fall, and get himself hurt. That would do neither of them any good.

"Rosary…?"

Roswell pulled himself up onto the terrace, pushing his hair out of his face as he peered through the window into Rosary's room. He could just barely see her in there, lying on her bed with her face buried in her pillow. Some of her other pillows and what looked like a few of her belongings were scattered across the floor as if she'd thrown them—typical of her bursts of temper. Had she confronted her parents, too? Well, heaven knew they weren't as flexible as his, but—Roswell couldn't stifle the surge of painful hope through his heart at the thought that he and Rosary might finally be able to stop sneaking around and bring their friendship out into the open.

That maybe, Rosary had started feeling the same way he did, and with no more barriers, they could…

Well, Roswell was getting a bit ahead of himself, but… it was a nice dream.

He rapped lightly on the window. "Rosary, I'm coming in…"

She didn't react, so Roswell went ahead and pushed the loose pane of glass out of the window, reaching around to flip the latch so he could pull the window open and step inside.

She still didn't react, not even to look up at him—she just kept her face buried in her pillow.

Had she confronted her parents and come off the worse for the encounter? Roswell wondered, a bit worried. What if they'd done something to her…? In any case, she was obviously upset. Grimacing, Roswell crossed the room and reached out, starting to lay his hand on her shoulder. "Rosary, I…"

She lashed out suddenly, slapping his hand viciously away. "Don't _touch _me," she seethed.

Roswell stepped back, his heart giving an unwelcome jolt of shock. Rosary's normally bright pink eyes were dull and bloodshot, circled by deep shadows and glassy with the tears that stained her face. She was shaking with fury, and there was something slightly unbalanced in the way she glared at him with more ferocity than he'd ever seen her display before.

"Rosary—"

"Shut up! Shut _up!!"_ She hit her mattress to emphasize her words as her voice cracked on the last syllable, frenzied and broken from weeping. "This is your fault! This is all your fault!"

Roswell's heart knotted as his insides went cold. "What… what are you talking about?" he managed, staring at her with wide, bewildered eyes.

"This! _Everything! _They—do you know what I had to _go _through because of what you did?"

What _you _did, Roswell noted distantly. What _you _did, not what _we _did. But… but they'd agreed on it. It had been as much her idea as his. She'd been the one to bring it up in the first place. Hadn't she…?

"They told me I'm a disgrace to the name of Esmeralda," Rosary railed at him, half-crying even as she said the words. "They said, they said if I wasn't their only living child they would be _disowning _me for this, that because I'm the only one left to this family I can stay in this house, but otherwise they'd put me out on the streets! It was bad enough before, but—but at least they were _indifferent _to me except as their heir! They _hate _me! They hate me, and it's all your fault!"

"Rosary—" Roswell began brokenly, a plea for understanding, or forgiveness, or maybe just for her to calm down a little. They'd been through rough times before. Her parents had threatened her before. This… this wasn't any different, was it?

"Shut _UP!" _she shrieked, with such force that Roswell automatically stepped back, holding his hands up as if to fend off an attack. "I feel so—so _dirty… _I think of what you did and it makes me sick! I should never have come to you then! I don't know what I was thinking!"

"Rosary…" Watching her, Roswell couldn't help but feel a little queasy. She was out of control, and there could be no reasoning with her, but… did she really mean what she was saying? That night had been—had been one of the most freeing experiences of his life, and it had opened his eyes to the way he _really _felt about her. At the time he'd been scared out of his wits, but—making love with her was one thing he never wanted to regret.

Not even because their parents had found her in his bed.

It was something that they couldn't let their parents' twisted judgment corrupt—right?

Didn't she feel the same way?

"This is all your fault! Get out of here! Go away! I never want to see your face again!"

Something tight squeezed Roswell's chest, making it hard for him to breathe. "Rosary…"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" She flung a pillow at him. It missed by several feet, hitting the wall with a thick thumping sound. "Go away! I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I _hate_ you!"

The words hit Roswell's heart like a sharp bolt of lightning, freezing it in his chest. An awful heavy feeling settled over him, numbness tightly wrapping his body as Rosary's words echoed over and over in his head.

He looked at her, a violent mess that screamed obscenities at him, without really hearing anything she said, only seeing her rage and disgust and hatred.

_She hates me._

She hates me. She hates me. It's over. She'll never forgive… 

Only knowing that somehow he had to escape that horrible thought, Roswell turned his back on her and bolted out the door to her room, down the hall and out the manor door.

He ran and ran, every jagged pulse of his heart a brutal reminder of her words. Hot tears built in his eyes, blurring his vision and stinging as they fell. Still he ran. He knew the way, knew it by heart, the same way he now knew Rosary's eternal and undying hatred, her blame.

Why? Why?

He couldn't escape it, no matter how hard he ran. His fault. It was all his fault. It was his fault that her parents had said those things to her, and now she hated him, and she would never forgive him, and the light and the hope and the joy that he'd felt only minutes before were dead and gone and he would never feel them again.

Blinded by despair, Roswell burst through the doors of his own home, past startled servants, and fled up the stairs into his room, slamming the door.

He collapsed to the floor, panting and trembling with exhaustion, his hands shaking and his sight still blurred by tears.

_"I hate you!"_

All but blind with emotion, Roswell turned towards his dressing table, staring for a moment before lurching over to it, grabbing hold of the drawer handles to steady himself.

Over. It was over. Everything was over.

If Rosary hated him… if he'd given his heart too readily, and now it was too late to go back and change things… if there really was no hope…

Then… then what was the point?

What reason was there left to go on at all?

---

"Have you heard about what happened at the Black Rose Manor yesterday?" 

_"Only that something's wrong with the young lord. I don't really know what's going on…"_

_"I saw it with my own eyes. Milord and milady called me in to help them. They found him in his room with his arms slashed open, barely conscious."_

_"My God! Who could have done such a…?"_

_"They found his razor next to him, covered in his blood. It's obvious he did it to himself."_

_"Why would Lord Roswell do that?"_

_"You've heard about the incident between him and Lady Rosary, yes? The general consensus is that he tried to go back to her and she rejected him—that the young lady broke his heart. We were all lucky that he didn't know the right way to cut the major arteries, or he would have bled to death before we got him to the healers."_

_"The poor boy… Does Lady Rosary know?"_

_"I don't know. I'm sure it's reached her parents, but they're keeping her locked up, so she may not have heard the news yet."_

_"…I suppose… that's what they get for trying to defy the rivalry their families have held for so long… Those poor children."_

_"I hope that in time… in time, this will all end well."_

_"So do I…"_

**Owari.**


	8. tomodachi: friend

Suki ja nai

See disclaimer in 01

08: tomodachi

"Hey, Roswell?"

Pushing his bangs out of his face, Roswell looked over his shoulder to the branch next to his, pausing in sketching the half-bloomed flowers near his face. Rosary was leaning back with her book open on her lap, absently stirring the air with her feet as she watched him inquisitively.

"Yeah, what?"

"Have you ever thought about what kind of person you're going to marry?"

Roswell gave her a _look. _"Uh, what? Marriage, _ew. _It's not like we're going to have to worry about that kind of thing for a long time." For all that Rosary was his best friend, she was such a _girl _sometimes.

"Hey, don't just blow me off. I'm serious." Rosary reached across the tree to thwap him in the shoulder, pushing his arm and making him leave a long line of graphite over his sketch. Roswell growled, annoyed, crumpled the sheet of paper, and tossed it down to the ground. Now he'd have to start all over again. "Sure, we might not wanna think about it right now, but we're going to have to get married _someday, _right? After all, neither of us has any siblings. Each of us is heir apparent to our houses. We have to carry the bloodline and such."

Roswell pulled a face. "Rosary, no fifteen-year-old guy wants to think about that stuff. Marriage and babies are like a _lifetime _away. I want to _live _a little before I have to settle down with whoever my parents decide to fix me up with."

Rosary gave him a pouty look. "So you're gonna let your mom and dad pick _that, _too? _You're _always the one who complains that they're too controlling! And what do you mean about 'living'? Shutting yourself up in the library playing with magic isn't having a life."

"Says you. That's what I _like _to do, so leave me alone." Flush-faced, Roswell etched a few sullen lines across the paper.

"Whatever. You and I are going to go out on a boat someday and explore and have fun and you'll take back all your swearing yourself away to being a hermit then." Rosary dogeared her page, closed her book, and wrapped her arms around it. "You really haven't given _any _thought as to what kind of person you'd like to marry?"

"Well, I'll tell you _one _thing, and that's the fact that she'll take me for the person I am instead of always nitpicking about the way I enjoy doing research. I want to make a name for myself, Rosary. That comes before all the mushy stuff."

Rosary stuck her tongue out at him. "Will you stop being a _boy _for a second and actually think about this for a second? Jeez."

"Alright, alright, I'm listening." Half-listening anyway, Roswell thought to himself as he continued to draw, shifting his sketchpad to move it out of the shadows the tree's leaves cast.

Rosary gave an annoyed little huff, then went on, sounding as earnest as any thirteen-year-old girl could. "For me, it'd have to be someone tall and handsome and smart, who actually likes to hear what I think instead of making decisions for me. I'll meet him somewhere, someday, and we'll fall madly in love and have a whirlwind romance, and then get married."

"Setting the bar high much?" Roswell asked lightly, amused, as he shaded the side of a petal.

"Well, yeah, I've got to. Marriages are forever. I don't want to end up stuck with someone whose guts I'll end up hating after a few years." Rosary sighed. "Besides… I'm not going to go out with anybody who can't measure up to the standards of my best friend."

Roswell hesitated, and looked over at her, surprised. "You really mean that…?"

She grinned at him. "Of course. If I'm not friends with the guy I fall in love with, what's the point? He'll have to be someone I can talk to, like I can with you. I'll never, ever go out with someone who isn't as good a friend to me as you are—_never."_

Roswell turned back to his drawing, a little embarrassed and secretly touched. "…Rosary, that's… well, I don't know."

"Pfft." Rosary turned back to the open sky. "That's so typical of you."

There was a long silence as Roswell tried to re-immerse himself in his drawing. It was hard work. What Rosary had said… well, he was flattered that she thought that much of him, really.

"I'll tell you something else, too," Rosary said, suddenly serious.

"What's that?"

"Well… I mean, you see couples nowadays and how as soon as two people get married, the rest of the world stops existing for them, and they fall out of touch with everyone around them and their friends get jealous or sad. Roswell, when I get married… I… I promise I won't just up and ignore you for someone else. If the person I like can't handle that, I'll know he's not the right person for me. You're my best friend. It would be… kind of wrong to just abandon you like that."

"Rosary…" Turning back to look at her, Roswell smiled, tucking loose strands of hair behind his ear in an embarrassed gesture. "I… I don't know what to say."

"Well…" She grinned at him. "There's one thing you can say." She held out a hand to him. "Being friends with you is important to me. So I want to make a promise, okay?"

"Sure…" Roswell set his drawing aside. "What is it?"

She held up her pinky with a smile. "I want to promise… to always be friends. To never let there be a time when we can't talk like this. 'Cause this is something I don't want to lose, ever."

"Forever," Roswell echoed, and hooked his own pinky finger through hers. "I'll never forget."

It was the middle of spring. The sky was a brilliant blue, the grass was a soft baby green, and life was waking all around them. It was an enchanted time, and neither of them could ever imagine that their promise could possibly be broken.

**Owari.**


	9. futatsu bara: two roses

Suki ja nai

See disclaimer in 01

09: futatsu bara

The grizzled old man looked down upon the two children before him with a kindly smile, and shifted his knobbled hands over the gnarled crook of his staff.

"So you want me to tell you a story, do you?"

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?" they asked in unison, giving him identically huge, hopeful eyes. He laughed.

It was summer and the old hermit had taken shelter beneath the branches of the ancient tree on the border of Marvel. As their parents dealt with matters of state in the town, the young lord and lady had escaped the chatter and apparently decided to explore. The hermit knew them well—everyone in Verlaine did—and was happy to oblige the children's demand for attention.

The heir to Branthese, Roswell, was a slight, pale boy of seven with bright eyes and a flush that appeared to be the beginnings of a sunburn across his face, inquisitive and already seeming wise well beyond his years in that slightly uncanny way that children had. He'd pulled his distant cousin and apparent best friend Rosary out here, it seemed, equally because the shade offered relief from the relentless sun and because he knew well that the elderly often had entertaining tales to tell.

Rosary, heir to Esmeralda, was a sunny, vibrant five-year-old, full of energy and drive and already possessing the ability to get whatever she wanted, by whatever means necessary. Though willful, she'd nevertheless tagged happily along with Roswell into the shade. From the look in her sparkling eyes, at this young age she'd do anything so long as she could be with him—the old hermit recognized well the adoration bordering on puppy love that was the bond of true best friends.

That was what decided him on what story he would tell—the story that, perhaps, they themselves would provide the ending to in their future years.

"Long, long ago, when this land was still under the control of the Kingdom of Fantasinia, there lived a great wizard named Valois."

Recognizing the name of their illustrious ancestor, both children visibly perked up.

"Times were hard back then. The last of the great wyrms—Brongaa, Dragon of Purgatory—did as it pleased, although the rest of its deadly kin had been slain by the heroes of the age. None could stand in its way—or rather, none had the courage to try. Brongaa dominated the land to the north, the land that is now known as Bronquia, and ruled it with terror clutched tightly in its claws.

"Now, as the dragons died out, humans began to create order in these lands. Leading the way was the Kingdom itself, under the Holy Sword their sovereigns hold, and the might of Meriata. The age of the serpents was passing, and the age of humanity beginning. In the interest of securing a free future for all of humankind, the King of Fantasinia in that age vowed to destroy Brongaa and end the struggle once and for all. But Brongaa was a deadly opponent, and although many had tried to defeat it, none had succeeded."

The hermit paused to gauge the reaction of his audience. Both children sat rapt and wide-eyed, totally immersed.

"Valois heard of this, and journeyed to the Kingdom to offer his aid.

"But outside of the lands where Valois had been born, he was not a well-known sorcerer, and the King did not know if he would be able to trust one so young. He didn't believe that Valois knew what he was getting into, and wanted to refuse and send him away.

"But before the King could give his final reply, the court's artificer stepped in. He recognized the power Valois held, and announced that with the help your ancestor offered them, it might be possible to defeat Brongaa after all.

"The King and his court were astounded, but their artificer was the chief magician in their country and he had never steered them wrong before, so it was decided that Valois would aid them after all.

"The Kingdom's forces gathered for the battle and made war on Brongaa. It was a long and terrible struggle, for Brongaa was mighty and cunning and did not want to give up its land in the least. Worse, it was aided by its own people, a tribe of humans said to carry its bloodline. Although at times it seemed there was no hope for victory, the King forged ahead with his sword, and with the aid of the great hero known as Gill the Dragonslayer and Valois' magic, the Kingdom finally prevailed.

"When at long last Brongaa was settled into sealed sleep, the King knew his artificer had been right, and asked Valois if there was anything he could possibly do to repay the sorcerer's deeds. Valois was as bold and as hopeful as he was powerful, and the price he named was a small portion of the Kingdom's land to claim for his own—a free state devoted to the study of magic, where wizards of all types could gather to share their knowledge.

"The King did not want to give up any of the land he had secured, but at the same time he could not refuse when Valois had been such a great help to him, and so he granted Valois these hills, on the northern border of his realm. Valois signed a treaty of alliance with the Kingdom, and gathered his fellow mages to form this independent state.

"This country prospered, and in time Valois married and had two children, a son named Branthese and a daughter named Esmeralda. As he grew old, he knew he could not choose one over the other as his heir, for he loved them both dearly. And so, he proposed to them and to his people that the two of them rule their new country together, as heads of separate but equal noble houses. The populace applauded this as a fine plan. Branthese and Esmeralda chose their father's sigil, the rose, to form their family crests, as their names were spelled with the characters for 'black rose' and 'white rose', and so this country became known as Verlaine—an ancient word that meant 'two roses'."

Roswell and Rosary watched the storyteller out of wide, awed eyes.

"And now, it's time for this old man to show you two his greatest secret." With a smile, the hermit drew something from the folds of his shawl.

"This is a Tactics Card," Roswell observed, sounding fascinated, as he and Rosary drew close to peer at the image emblazoned on it—that of a mage haloed in light, surrounded by blooming briars. "But… I've never seen one like this before…"

"In those days, Valois was so respected and so powerful that the Kingdom's artificer was able to record his favorite spell and an imprint of his power into this special card," the hermit explained. "Like our country, it's called 'Two Roses', and it's an important part of your own legacy. However… it must be used by the heirs of both houses together for it to work, and so it has not been used for a great many years."

As the two children stared in wonder, the hermit smiled.

"Why don't you two take it? It's rightfully yours, after all. Keep it somewhere safe… it may come in handy for the two of you someday…"

---

"That attack just now…" Yggdra asked, awed, as the Royal Army regrouped within the castle walls. "That was amazing. I've never seen its like before. Just what was that card?"

"An old family heirloom," Rosary explained, sounding a bit disgruntled, crossing her arms and pointedly not looking at Roswell. "It's the 'Two Roses' card. It doesn't get used much, because we both have to be there for it to work."

"It was made using Valois' power in ancient times…" Roswell continued, brushing off his robes and pushing his hair back as he slipped the card back into his messenger bag. "Don't get used to having it, though. It's a last resort only."

"Talk about it," Rosary grumbled, giving her hair a flick and shuddering a little in revulsion. "I have having to cooperate with… _him."_

"My sentiments _exactly," _Roswell agreed, giving Rosary a bitter sidelong look. "…We won't ever use this card again unless all our lives depend upon it."

With that, the two mages walked in opposite directions to rejoin their personal units.

"But, even though they say that…" Yggdra said with a shake of her head. "Even though they say that, watching them use that card together, casting their spell in tandem… it was a magnificent sight. Truly breathtaking. And…"

"Yeah," Milanor chipped in with a nod. "That timing was exact. They must've practiced it at some point. You don't just up and pull a trick like _that _out of your a—I mean, out of nowhere," he amended hastily as Durant gave him a stern glare.

"Whatever the case, we wouldn't have escaped Aegina's forces if they hadn't volunteered that attack," the knight said with a harrumph. "Even if they claim it cannot be relied upon, it is a considerable relief to know that a power such as that is within our reach in times of need."

"Nietzsche thinks that maybe things weren't always like that," the undine girl observed, looking from Roswell to Rosary with a comically serious expression and folded arms. "It must have taken lots and lots of work to learn that."

"Maybe sometime in the future we'll know the whole story behind it, but now isn't the time," Durant admitted. "We must press forward and reclaim the rest of the Capital, now we've stymied our pursuers with the gates."

"Yes…" Yggdra nodded. "Yes, you're right."

Still, she glanced surreptitiously at the two roses of Verlaine as she rejoined her bodyguards.

_If it's possible for them to work together in times of crisis, then maybe there's hope yet for their relationship, _she thought. _…I just hope it isn't too late for things to heal between them. I hope that what we've seen… is a good sign, and not a bad one._

**Owari.**


	10. aishiteru: i love you

Suki ja nai

See disclaimer in 01

10: aishiteru

"Rosary, may I speak with you?"

It wasn't the words, but rather the look on Roswell's face that caught Rosary by surprise: He wouldn't meet her eyes, and there was a deep, troubled struggle in the slight grimace he wore.

Once the two of them had found a secluded oriel whose alcove they could stand in, Rosary gave her longtime friend a slightly worried grin. "Okay, who's the father?" she asked, elbowing him in an invitation to share in her humor.

Roswell frowned at her. "…What?" he asked, his brow creasing in confusion.

Rosary shook her head. "Sorry. It's just, with that look on your face I felt like some parent whose daughter was about to confess that she'd gotten pregnant or something."

Roswell groaned, but gave her a weak smile. "Rosary… seriously, you and I need to talk about this. It's… been bothering me for a while now, and I… there's no way I can go on without telling you."

"You're starting to freak me out," Rosary said, still smiling although that little worry line had appeared at the center of her brow. "Just spit it out, okay? Whatever it is, get it off your chest before you choke on it."

"If only it were that simple…" Roswell murmured, taking off his beret so he could run his black-gloved hand through his hair. "We're friends, right?"

Rosary frowned. "Well, we were the last time I checked," she joked. "Took us a few years to fix the whole arguments-and-awkwardness thing, but I think we're safe now. Why?"

"How long have we been friends?" Roswell persisted. "Since we were—three or four? Gods, I can't even remember. We've been friends that long. I suppose… part of the reason this is so hard for me to say is because I don't want to do anything to compromise that."

"Why would anything you have to say to me compromise our friendship?" Rosary asked with a frown. "You've always been the sensitive one. Too sensitive for your own good, and too sensitive to say something blunt enough to hurt someone unless you were mad at them and doing it purposely."

Roswell just smiled sadly. "You see, this… is something I've always wanted to say to you, it's just… I've always been too afraid of your reaction to actually tell you. So I tried to keep it inside. But I can't any longer. If I have to keep my silence for another day, I'll go mad. I just can't stand it anymore."

"Well, say it, then," Rosary insisted, reaching out to shake his shoulder lightly. "We're friends, right? There's nothing you can't say to me."

"Friends…" Roswell sighed. "That's… that's just it, Rosary."

Her frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

"It's been almost three years since we officially patched things up during the post-war negotiations. It took longer for us to get all of our old relationship back, but it's mostly there now. It's been almost a year since we started sleeping together. You have always insisted that it's little more than an affair, or a fling, or casual sex. That makes us, what—fuck buddies?" Roswell shook his head as he said it, contempt in the words. Although she didn't say anything about it, Rosary was privately impressed—she didn't think she'd ever heard Roswell use that word before.

"Does it bother you that we're having sex?" Rosary asked, putting her hands on her hips. "I sure don't get that impression when we're in bed together, but…"

"No—no. It's…" Roswell ran his hands through his hair again. "What bothers me is this: Over the course of this almost-a-year relationship, we have slept together in numerous inns, in the residences of our friends, all over my manor and most certainly in my bed, but never in yours. Why is that?"

His eyes were intense, his expression frustrated, as he said the words, careful to keep his voice low in case someone passed by. Something about that intensity made Rosary's heart stutter in her chest.

"At first I thought it might be that you didn't want things to get that intimate, and took your words about this being a casual affair at face value. But that can't be the truth. We've known each other as good as all our lives. We grew up together; we went through all the trials and tribulations of puberty together, never sparing either of us the gruesome details. We've had our good days and our bad days and sworn at each other and tried to kill each other, hated each other, went through an awkward period of making up, and cried on each other's shoulders. We've been intimate for quite some time, and we've done things to each other in bed that I can't even begin to describe where someone might hear. There's no shame between us, no fear of intimacy in the least.

"I even wondered if you feared the bad memories from Back Then. But that all happened in my bed, not yours, so there's no way that could be true either. You have no problem with sex there. So why is it that you're so unwilling to let me into your bed? I have to know."

The stutter of Rosary's heart had become a hammer. "W-why is it so important?!" she demanded, backing up a step, feeling her face flush and panic start to pound at her temples.

"I have to know because I've spent too long agonizing over what the rest of my life will be like if I'm not right about what I think it is. I have to know because, Rosary, I have to know the truth about what you feel for me. I have to know because…" He took a deep breath, then stepped forward, his eyes desperate and overly bright, and leaned in, his arms lightly encircling her shoulders as he leaned his cheek against her forehead. "I have to know because I love you, Rosary."

You could have heard a pin drop against the finely carpeted floor as Rosary looked up at him, stunned, then as he leaned down and kissed her.

"…!" It was instinctive. Rosary couldn't help it. There was deep passion in Roswell's kiss, passion and pain and fire, and a velvet demand that she didn't have it in her to deny. She clung to him with a choked cry, her hands fisted in the front of his robes.

When he pulled back, Roswell was out of breath, and his aquamarine eyes were hazed over with grief and desire and heartbreaking longing. "I love you, and it tears me apart to even think about living the rest of my life without you at my side," he said softly, and his voice was shaking with emotion as he spoke the words. "When you rejected me all those years ago it broke my heart. I was going to tell you then, but you were in so much pain, and you just couldn't see anything but that pain. I've loved you for longer than I had words to put to this feeling." He clutched the fabric of his robes over his heart. "You broke my heart then, and maybe I'm a fool for giving you a second chance at doing the same, but there is no one else for me but you. I could never feel for anyone else what I feel for you. You're the only one I've ever loved this way, and the only one I ever will love like this.

"Rosary, I have got to know why because… because I have to know that it means something to you when we make love, because I have to know that you just don't want it to hit home that it means too much, because you have to notice that the stars shine a little bit brighter whenever we're together, that the earth shakes and the sky sings and everything feels like it's fallen into place. It's a frightening feeling, I know. It scares the hell out of me. Just please, please tell me that… that…" Roswell shook his head, running out of words, his eyes pleading and desperate.

"I… you… we… I…" Rosary shook her head, dumbfounded, her knees going shaky and her head rushing. "I… Roswell… I…" She took a deep breath. "How can you just—your depression! If I tell you I don't… you're just holding out your heart for people to step on it, and…"

"If you don't love me, it doesn't matter, because I'll have broken things again… broken them so badly no one could ever repair them," Roswell said quietly, defeatedly, his eyes bleak and hollow. "It won't matter, because even without my… health problems, I wouldn't be able to bear it, I wouldn't be able to live. You're all that matters, Rosary. You're the only thing that's ever mattered."

She couldn't speak. Roswell caught her lips with his again, gentle this time, pleading. She reached up and touched his face, deepened the kiss. His lips were warm and softer than a dream, but his face was wet with tears.

Shattered, Rosary thought as she traced his cheekbone with a fingertip. He's already been shattered once. It was only because of his once-broken heart that he seemed so, so fragile now, especially since he'd cast aside his pride to speak with her so openly. It would be so easy to shatter him again, and doubtless this time he would not recover. She'd talked to the doctors after his last, most dire suicide attempt, and they'd told her frankly that his condition was deteriorating. If she said she didn't love him…

But if she said that she did love him just to keep him alive, he would know. Roswell was no fool. And that would hurt him worse in the long run. She owed him the truth.

So what, exactly, was the truth?

As Roswell eased her back down, she took a deep breath and looked up at him, biting her lip. From the way he was looking at her, she could tell what answer he expected.

"You do know that this is probably the stupidest, craziest risk you've ever taken in your life, don't you?" she began slowly. Before Roswell could answer, she laid her fingers to his parted lips to hush him. "Well, you are one lucky, idiotic bastard, because…" Shaking her head, she vainly tried to blink back tears. "Because I… I-I do… have f-feelings for you."

Roswell blinked, visibly taken aback.

"You stupid jerk," Rosary said, wiping her face. The tears wouldn't stop spilling over. "I didn't want to think about it or talk about or acknowledge it at all. But you and your stupid ultimatum…" Looking up at him, she gave him a weak smile, still dabbing at tears.

"Rosary, I-I'm sorry, I…" Visibly distressed, Roswell touched her face, then pulled his hand back as if bitten. "I… I made you cry. I…"

"You moron," Rosary said, laughing. "Don't you get it?! I'm crying 'cause I do like you. I'm crying because I l-love you!"

"Rosary…"

"Stupid, really…" Rosary kept laughing, still impatiently brushing at tears. "We've both been… so stupid. Everyone knew. Yggdra and Gulcasa, and Kylier and Elena and Flone, they all knew and they've been driving me crazy trying to get me to admit it to myself. Not to mention that manipulative little bastard Nessiah, who's been trying to fix us up in the most completely obvious manner since he managed to get Yggdra and Gulcasa hitched. But of course you and I… it's taken us so long to figure it out. We're idiots of the most pathetic order."

"Maybe if we hadn't spent so much time telling ourselves it wasn't love, we would've gotten to this point sooner," Roswell said with a helpless shrug, giving her a teary smile of his own. "Maybe then, we wouldn't have done everything all out of order. I mean…"

"Yeah—I've gotta say, most couples at least know they like each other before they hit the sheets," Rosary said wryly, blinking. "Man, are we stupid."

"So it took us longer to figure everything out." Roswell shook his head and brushed one of his own tears away. "I propose we don't waste any more time blaming ourselves, and skip to the good part."

Rosary rolled her eyes, but turned her face up for his kiss.

**Owari.**

:Postscript:

And so, Suki ja nai is finally finished. For a drabble collection, it took longer than I expected to complete, but I enjoyed my chance to further explore Roswell and Rosary's relationship without having to delve into a whole new chaptered story to do it.

As I think we've all noticed, these oneshots don't go in chronological order. If you want to go back and read them that way so that it won't hurt your brain so much, their proper order is 1.) futatsu bara, 2.) tomodachi, 3.) daikirai, 4.) namida, 5.) kaiwa, 6.) odoru, 7.) ren'ai, 8.) zetsubou, 9.) mahou, and 10.) aishiteru. The second half of "futatsu bara" actually comes in during the game's plot (just after BF15) and therefore goes between "daikirai" and "namida".

I'll handle specific commentary on each oneshot in separate sections.

**Zetsubou:** This section was written in Gallery (yes, I wrote each one in a different font, too!), and due to the number of comments in this particular vein I got, I feel as though I have to say something about it.

While "emo" is fine while used in a comedic slant, there are times when it gets really insulting, and this is one of them. Roswell's portrayal throughout this story characterizes him as having _clinical depression, _a serious _medical _disorder theorized to be caused by a _chemical imbalance in the brain. _It is not something he can do anything about other than take drugs. While its full onset was triggered by being rejected by Rosary, it is a medical condition that has nothing to do with his actual emotions or the circumstances he's in. If someone has clinical or situational depression that threatens their well-being, it has to be treated seriously, and as I am most definitely treating it seriously in this story, I find it insulting when Roswell gets slapped with the "emo" label. So stop it, or I'm going to have to hurt you.

**Ren'ai:** I wrote this part in Goudy Old Style. I am told by my mother that it may be the most tasteful sexual episode I have ever written for any characters. Really, what does she take me for? It's not like I write porn. (Even if I write something graphically, it's part of the plot. Not just fan service.) I had to write it from Rosary's point of view because she's kinda purposely not getting it; if I'd done it from Roswell's, it would've been too obvious. Besides, here he's already asleep!

**Mahou:** This was written in Tiempo, and I had a lot of fun with Nessiah here. The use of songs as magical commands originates in Ah! My Goddess (quite a few of my plot devices trace their way back to that lovely series, come to think of it). Roswell doesn't make a big deal out of it, but his voice isn't all that bad either. I would quite like to draw the scenes in this oneshot someday.

**Namida:** I wrote this one in High Tower Text. After writing three straight oneshots from Rosary's perspective, it was hard doing one from Roswell's! He's a lot more restrained and polite than her and sometimes keeps his natural reactions in check for pride's sake, which makes him difficult to write at times. Anyway, this should actually help to clear up a little more detail of the alternate version of the Heaven's Gate battle I haven't really written but holds for everything in the Stupid Cupid ficverse.

**Kaiwa:** I'm often accused of being overly descriptive, so in the style of some of my friends, I decided to challenge myself to write a story with next to no description at all. It actually resembles many conversations I've had with friends and my mother to try to get them to pay attention to my work (no one ever does), but I don't take offense at everything like Rosary does, and I like to think I'm not as pushy as her either. In case anyone wondered, they're talking about Rosary's gift for Flone's bridal shower/bachelorette party. This was done in Centaur.

**Odoru:** Ah, more lovely manipulative Nessiah. I think it is sexy when guys A.) know their way around the kitchen, B.) can handle themselves in a garden, and C.) dance well, so Roswell has obviously hit three of three. (I'm hopeless.) I liked being able to mention the other couples, and of course put Zilva in something sexy, just to shock and titillate. Hee. Poor Nessiah has so little to work with here; Rosary is thick as a brick about Roswell's feelings for her and almost as stubborn as Gulcasa. I wrote this part in Lucidia Bright.

**Daikirai:** I owe this part of my Japanese vocabulary to Asuka Langley Soryu. ("Kirai, kiraaaai! DAIKIRAI!", as heard so often in the later episodes of Eva.) Anyway, the scene actually wound up a lot more dramatic (melodramatic) than I expected it to be. Poor Roswell. Rosary really is having an Asuka moment here. I wrote this in Poor Richard.

**Tomodachi:** I definitely expected more Roswell-and-Rosary-sitting-in-a-tree jokes than I got. They really talk candidly to each other, which is one of the fun things about their relationship. I'm still getting over the fact that I had Roswell use the word "like" in a modern-teenager sense. Roswell, I thought you were above that! This was written in Fantasy.

**Futatsu bara:** Trying to figure out the way to say "two roses" in a grammatically correct fashion was hell. Why does Japanese have eighty different ways to say "two", anyway?! If there's anything wrong with it, forgive me. My Japanese grammar sucks. Anyway, the artificer mentioned in the old man's story is Nessiah, obviously, as it's mentioned that he made a card. The "Two Roses" card was something I made up after thinking it would be really cute and also very cool if Roswell and Rosary ever had to cast a spell together on the battlefield. I wrote this part in Book Antiqua.

**Aishiteru:** This was written in LainieDaySH—which, while a beautiful font for graphics, isn't too type-friendly in story format! (I had to mess around with size and insert some characters in Blackadder ITC because they aren't present in the actual font… groan. I wanted to do it in Bickley Script, but my computer hasn't got it and IT'S REALLY EXPENSIVE! $42 USD on some sites?! Maji de…) Way to go, Roswell! He effectively forced Rosary to come to terms with her feelings for him so that she could give him a truthful answer and stop him from doing something stupid. Really, that's probably the ONLY way to get Rosary to own up to her affection for him. Their love/hate relationship is so aww-tastic.

In short, I suppose that if Stupid Cupid originally turned me on to Roswell/Rosary, Suki ja nai did it and now I'm a lifer. (/shot) Next to Gulcasa/Yggdra, it's become one of my favorite pairings in this fandom. I'm as much a sucker for love/hate as I am for star-crossed.

Thank you to all my reviewers. Again—and as always—this one's for Rau-sama. Hontou ni aishiteru. Always and forever. (Kare wa boku no daisuki na hito.) You'll never catch _me _saying "it's not love".

-Feral Phoenix

July 1, 11:34 PM


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